


Creatures of the Night

by Riddleisourking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riddleisourking/pseuds/Riddleisourking
Summary: It had no hair on any part of its body and from what he could tell, it was drooling at the base of the tree. Big sunken in eyes stare into his own and sharp claws- sharper and longer than a werewolf's claw- dig into the tree.The thing was climbing.He glances around himself quickly; nothing immediately shouted a resolution or escape plan that would save him from the thing. The only thing he could do was climb higher and high-He turned his head back and the thing was a hair's breadth away from his face. Sharp teeth, pale eyes, gnarled nose, and an angular face was nearly touching his own.He stilled.





	1. Chapter 1

Muddy lifeless brown eyes stare back at him from the mirror and he wishes not for the first time that they were brighter, livelier. Those, paired with messy frail-looking hair and an unwashed face send a cold chill down his back. That's not what scared him the most; the weight gain on his face did.

He poked and pinched at his chubby face, pulling at the meaty bits of it. Releasing it, it bounces right back with a jiggle.

Bile was rising in the back of his throat and he sank over the sink, gagging and gagging over again. His pudgy fingers gripping the sides of the sink strike his vision and he groaned as he pulled away, wiping his plump mouth off. He never should have ate that much last night, even if it was Thanksgiving.

It was supposed to be his purging night and instead, he ate until his stomach was full. Which, let's face it, was as foreign a feeling as anything these days.

He stumbled from the sink and sulked back down the hall. His footsteps were thunderous on the wood floor, further evidence of his weight gain.

“Stiles?” His dad, the dependable sheriff of a town full of supernatural creatures, called from downstairs. “I stopped and grabbed dinner.”

The thought of even eating again so close to his binge day was disgusting to him. Greasy curly fries and a fattening burger were just empty calories; it would take more effort to burn them as opposed to eating them. Besides, they would only give him a temporary pleasure. One that he couldn't afford with his current weight.

He stomped his way down the stairs and flashed a patented smile at his dad, “Heading over to Scott's for dinner, sorry!” He called over his shoulder with a half-hearted wave.

Then he was out the door and running. He was running towards the preserve with his meaty thighs rubbing together, solidifying his weight gain further in his mind. He needed to punish himself for binging and exercise with fasting for a day or three was the only way to do it.

Besides, Scott and the pack were far too busy with the newest bad evil that came to town to bother with him and his health. He wouldn't be any use to them the way he was now anyways. It's not like he would be very good at running from a baddie with how fat he was now.

* * *

 

He came to a stop near the old, abandoned Hale house and took in several breaths. The distance that he had run was too much for him in this condition and it left his head spinning from over-exertion. Honestly, he should've known better; he wasn't as skinny as he used to be. 

A twig snapped in the distance and he whirled in the direction of it. Nothing. There was nothing moving around him that immediately screamed danger, but he was at the Hale house. Caution was a necessity here.

Several trees, rocks, and leaves obscure his vision as he shifts beyond his tree. He couldn't be certain that it wasn't just a bunny or deer that had made the noise. Years of experience in Beacon Hills wouldn't let him just stand there in the open. Not when there could be something out there waiting for him to slip up.

The only two places to do some deep reconnaissance was the house or the tree. From these two options, there was only one good one.

He reached for a branch and kicked his way up the tree, making more noise than was necessary for him to. Bark scraped and fell off under his heavy weight and he winced as the whatever was out there started immediately in his direction.

It was just like climbing a rope in gym, he just needed to focus his upper strength and… He tugged himself along further and further up the tree and stilled.

More twigs snapping catch his attention, the noise was coming from somewhere beneath him now. Leaves rustled around the tree, crumbling under the weight of something large.

In the distance, the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and with it, his only source of light. He hadn't even grabbed his phone before leaving the house. An idiot move on his part, but oh well.

A growl emitted below him, he sucked in a sharp breath and covered his own mouth and nose to stifle his breathing. He could see it now; it was inhuman whatever it was.

It had no hair on any part of its body and from what he could tell, it was drooling at the base of the tree. Big sunken in eyes stare into his own and sharp claws- sharper and longer than a werewolf's claw- dig into the tree.

The thing was  _ climbing. _

He glances around himself quickly; nothing immediately shouted a resolution or escape plan that would save him from the thing. The only thing he could do was climb higher and high-

He turned his head back and the thing was a hair's breadth away from his face. Sharp teeth, pale eyes, gnarled nose, and an angular face was nearly touching his own. 

He stilled.

The thing sniffed, grunting as it moved closer to him. Drool landed on his jeans in large blobs, he didn't risk even flinching. It's head tilted and snarled loudly in his face, spreading drool all over him. Then it was retreating back down the tree fitfully.

He still didn't move. 

He waited, watching the creature running off into the preserve further and further away from him. It could come back at any time it wanted and he would be too slow to get away.

The creature hadn't attacked him this time but it acted like it wanted to. It was like it couldn't find him, even if they had been close enough to breath on one another. Like it was blind or something.

Blindness would make sense if the creature lived underground but there were no tunnels or caves around Beacon Hills. Or at least none that he knew of.

Stiles settled against the tree branch he was on and yanked himself up to a larger one, one that he could rest on without the fear of falling off of it.

Loud growling echoed around the woods and he stilled on his new branch again. The creature was below him again and it sniffed at all of the trees closest to him and- and it licked them. This could be it's way to deal with losing one one the five senses. It used the other four to hunt with and those four would be more developed because of it.

The creature obviously wasn't going to be going away anytime soon; meaning he was tree’d until further notice. Great. He definitely had planned for his night to go exactly like this.

He settled into the branch with his back pressed against the side of the tree and he pulled his plump legs to his chest. Maybe one of the pack would come looking for him.

Maybe.

Not likely.

He would be in this for the long haul, just like that electrician from Tremors. Hopefully he wouldn't get dehydrated from this tree-ing.

* * *

 

He wakes with a start and catches himself against the tree to prevent any attempt at a fall that he might have had. The thing was back and it was staring at him from the tree branch across from him.

His heart hammered away in his chest and he hoped with every last bit of him that the thing couldn't hear him. It was over there, so it must have heard him shift or snore in his sleep. It knew he was right here and yet, it hadn't killed him yet.

It just stared at him and he stared back.

Minutes and what felt like hours passed between the two of them, the creature’s eyes were unblinking and fixed on him. For something that he had determined was blind, it knew exactly where his own eyes were. It was creepy, you know, aside from the ‘I'm going to murder you’ vibes it was putting off in waves.

It was starting to become evident that the creature wasn't going to break their gaze, or leave him for that matter. It was just going to stay there like a creepy fuck.

He silently made himself comfortable, settling back in for a sleepless night as he kept his eyes on the creature.

* * *

 

“Stiles!” 

That was Scott.

He doesn't answer; his tired eyes were fixed on the creature now sitting on his branch and staring at him. The thing didn't seem tired and it hadn't tried touching at all in the hours that had passed during their stare down.

“Stiles, where are you?!”

Lydia.

The creature’s ears flick. It can hear Scott and Lydia too then and it was making no move to get at them.

“He's up there.” Someone, maybe Isaac says.

“Stiles what are you doing up there?” 

Derek.

He chances a glance to below him. Sure enough, they're all standing down there and staring up at him. All of them ignorant of the beast before him that had trapped him in the tree.

He glances back up-

The creature was gone.

He glanced around himself quickly- the left? No. Right? No. Up? No. Down? No.

Only his friends were down their and by their confused looks, they didn't see it run away. He gripped his tree branch and inches himself down slowly, keeping an eye out for claw marks on any part of the tree.

He came up empty by the time that he landed on his feet. It was more than a bit discerning. He couldn't have just imagined it, right?

Derek was in his space in seconds, worried green eyes searching him and it comforted him. Then the wolf spoke and it was all downhill from there.

“You're practically sticks and bones, when was the last time you ate?” He demanded.

“Haha, very funny.” He snarled back, pushing past the alpha and going to Scott and Lydia. Even Isaac's eyes were on him and it caused anger to build in him. What did they know anyways?

“Stiles.” Scott had a kicked puppy dog look on his face and he scoffed.

“I'm taking care of my weight; don't worry, I won't be a detriment to the pack for much longer.” He sighed.

“Stiles, that's-”

“Enough, Scott. Instead of focusing on my weight issues, why don't we talk about the Gollum look-a-like that had me up a tree all night?” He interrupted.

That gave pause to their prying, enough to get them off of his back. 

“The what?” Derek chips in.

Stiles launched into a quick recap of his night, along with that morning. Much to the further confusion of his friends.

“Stiles, there was nothing up there with you.” Isaac argued. “And there's no other scent around here except for yours.”

“Well, then there's something wrong with your sniffer, Fido. I was drooled on and nearly killed!” 

“Stiles, he's right.” Derek edges in once more. If he wasn't in love with the guy, he'd probably snap at him right about now. “I didn't see anything and there's no scent here.”

He took a step back from them now, “I saw it.” He stressed.

“Stiles, when was the last time you had a decent meal?” Lydia pushes her way to the forefront of the group and he stares into her fiery eyes. 

For the longest time, he thought he was in love with her when he didn't know anything about her besides the fact that she was incredibly smart and hot. Over the years, they grew a tentative friendship that developed into a close friendship. He trusted her and she trusted him.

“The day before, I didn't imagine it, Lyds.” He spoke in a softer voice than before.

“Okay.” She nodded and swept in, hugging him tightly. “I believe you.”

“But-” Scott knits his brows together and turns to Derek.

Derek simply shook his head, silencing the wolf.

“We need to get together then; we need to figure out what could have his their scent from an alpha werewolf.” Stiles speaks up to them.

“Okay.” Derek agrees, a pinched ‘I just ate a lemon’ look taking over his face now.

They may not believe him now, but they would eventually. They just needed to tackle the bestiary and maybe Deaton.


	2. Chapter 2

“No depiction of the creature appears in any text that I've gone through, Stiles.” Deaton speaks, even the usual calculating glint in his eyes were gone and replaced with pity.

They were the same eyes that everyone had started giving him. No one, not even Deaton or Chris Argent believed him. Phrases like he’s delusional, not sleeping, or eating were being tossed around behind his back. That didn't even compare to the looks he received over his body.

“When was the last time you ate?” The vet was still speaking but he tuned him out.

“Well, I'll see you around, Dea-”

“Stiles, I have a scale and I want you to step on it.” He interrupts.

Derek stands interposing at the doorway, his arms crossed over his ridiculously muscled chest. So, this was happening then. They were going to force an intervention on him.

Great.

He turned away from the wolf and stared at the scale that Deaton gestures to. It was long and hospital-like. So, the chances were that it definitely worked and wouldn't misinterpret his weight.

Everyone would know how fat he was after he stepped on that, then he would get looks of disgust and pity. It wasn't too far of a long shot to assume that he would be kicked out from the pack as well. After all, someone who weighed as much as he did would only be detriment.

And if Derek saw it too, then he definitely wouldn't want him. Not that they had any kind of established relationship- no, he just had unrequited feelings for the alpha. It would still hurt to see the disgust on his face more than the others.

“Stiles.” Deaton spoke.

“I'm getting to it.” He snaps, edging his shoes off with his tiptoes.

He took a deep breath and then stepped on the scale. Deaton was there, moving the scale. It was fixed on 150 but the good vet shifted it down and it landed on 110. The smaller scaler was moved up until it stopped at 115.

Disgusting.

Silence filled the clinic and he stepped off of the scale, all too aware of all the eyes on him. They knew and now there-

Warmth engulfed him, followed by a strawberry and cream scent and he stumbled as Lydia locked her arms around him. For the moment, he just stared down at her. Shock, confusion warred inside of him and he slowly hugged her back.

“Lyds, I'm taking care of it.” He whispered against her hair.

Once upon a time, this would have ignited his teenage heart on fire, but those days were long gone now. Someone else was the center of his affections and that someone had no idea at all.

“You- Stiles, you're nearly forty pounds underweight.” She pulled away from him and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing and fixing it back over her shoulder. It did nothing to cover up the worry that she held in her and he shifted.

“It's not enough.” It was his only argument, the only thing he could say to try to make sense of his weight loss. “My thighs are still flabby, my cheeks are puffy and my stomach is bloated. I'm fat.”

“Stiles.”

He looked up and locked onto green bewildered eyes, “Derek.”

“You're far from… fat. You smell sick and unhealthy- You can't keep doing this to yourself. This is why you think you saw something in the preserve that night.” His eyes twitch down to take in his body again and he subconsciously sucks his stomach in and stands taller.

“I don't _think_ I saw it, I _know_ I saw it. Whatever is out there has teeth made for grinding meat and claws meant to maim things. It's a predator and I almost died.” He argued, his voice rose in his anger and he walked to the exit. Derek had moved away from the door and he sent him a glare before opening it and leaving through it.

They still didn't believe him. They needed proof, or else they might really have him committed.

A few blocks away from the clinic, he goes through a gated alleyway and to the tall metal fence that blocked it from the preserve. He rubbed his hands together and tucked the tip of his shoe into one of the holes. Then he hoisted himself up and over the top of the fence. He only has a quick warning before his knee locks up.

From his position on the top of the fence, with said leg hanging over the side leading to the preserve, this could only end in one way. He gripped wildly at the fence to no avail. Then, well then he was crashing onto the earth.

_Snap._

Pain shot up his left leg and Stiles only manages a silent scream before shock, or adrenaline, take over.

He breathes in slowly, still reeling from the pain that he had felt. Chips of wood and grass meet him and he forces himself up onto his ass. There was no use trying to get up on his feet. Not if the darkening fabric of his jeans was anything to go by.

It had to be blood, it's not like he pissed himself or landed in something wet. Plus, that noise...

There was no pain in the leg but he was hesitant to search for the point of damage. At the minimal, he could just have a bruise and a scrape- a scrape capable of producing that much blood- at the worst, well, he just hoped it wasn't the worst.

Closing his eyes, he shifts himself until he has his back against a tree. Now, he needed to look. Just a quick look couldn't hurt…

He unbuttoned his jeans and shifts them down and under his ass. The right leg is easy to get out and he rolls his left pant leg down to his knee. His thigh sustained zero damage, but that wasn't were the blood was covering from either.

He rolled the leg down further and met resistance finally. Something- oh god, oh fucking god. Something was sticking from his leg and it was making it hard to take the leg of his pants off.

Bile rose in his throat and he pushed the leg down to his ankle. Just like ripping… ripping…

His thoughts swirled as he stared down at the bone sticking from his leg. It was sticking right out. A clear, unclean break evident from the looks of it. Dark blood dripped from the wound quickly and he turned, retching loudly and spewing whatever was left after his morning purge.

He kept dry heaving from just the sick smell of it alone and he grabbed his pants, hand clasped over his mouth as he searched for his phone. Not in the front pockets. The back? No.

Fuck.

He glanced around himself and then the sun glinted on a silver phone case. A case that was on the other side of the fence.

Double fuck.

No one would know that he was out here and after today, the pack would be giving him space. No one would come looking for him. Even that night nearly a week ago would be more preferable than this.

Aside from that, his leg seemed like it needs immediate attention to it. He didn't take first aid in high school and health didn't even begin to cover this. There was no pain in his leg right now but if he tried something, it undoubtedly would come right back.

Did he- should he just push the bone back in? His stomach rolled from just the thought of it. But if he didn't do anything at all, he'd bleed to death before anything found.

Anything. That beast was still out here. Who knows when it could come back?

This was going to hurt like a bitch, he was sure of that much.

He pressed his hands on either side of the wound and pushed. Colors and darkness spread through his vision and he slumps against the tree. It felt like there was a ringing in his ears and it was getting louder and louder.

 

* * *

 

 

He gasped sharply as he jerks back to awareness. It was dark. The sky had gone dark and the moonlight was the only light that he could use.

That was enough. That was more than enough to see the beast that sat, chewing away at his leg.

He yelled loudly and threw rocks, sticks, anything that would get the beast away from him. The creature looked up, blood was smeared on its face and its teeth were dripping with it. It snarled loudly at him.

Stiles kept screaming and yelling at it, whacking at it with another branch. It finally took back off into the woods quickly but he couldn't relax.

His vision blurred with his tears as he looked at his leg. His leg had bite marks and chunks of it missing. How he was still alive was nothing short of a miracle at this point.

“D-derek.” He choked out.

The alpha was nowhere near here. Not when he lived in his loft so far from the preserve. No one would find him. Not until after he was dead and eaten.

He took his shirt off and wrapped it around his leg securely and tied it off just above the wound. He grunted and looked around warily. The beast was nowhere in sight but that didn't mean it wasn't still there, waiting for him to pass out again.

He dug his nails into the bark of the tree and pulled, kept pulling until he was standing on his one leg. His head kept swirling, he'd blame that on the blood loss.

Tentatively, he put pressure on his leg. Immediately, he nearly fell over from the blast of pain that hit him and he gripped the fence tightly just to keep himself upright.

Snarling came from the trees and he swallowed hard, hobbling on his one leg against the fence. He needed to get out of here.

 

* * *

 

He was not going to get out of here on his own. There was just no way in hell.

He dug his hands into the dirt and stared the creature in its eyes. It had been sitting there for two hours now. Just watching him.

Insects crawled on his injured leg and he swept them away disgustedly. They were trying to get into his leg and a few, well he had to pluck them out. An infection only seemed imminent at this point.

The beast started to move, maybe it could smell how close to death he was and it wasn't scared of him anymore. He couldn't do anything to fight it off. Not this time.

It crawled closer, almost hesitantly and it's skin was purple as opposed to the alabaster one from before. He had no strength left in his limbs and he just watched it approach his leg.

A long clawed hand came to rest on it and it dipped it's head down, sniffing it. It licked it once, twice.

He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut as pain shot through him. He may not be able to see the monster tearing at his leg but wet squelching, tearing sounds filled his ears and he sobbed. There was no use in pretending that it didn't hurt or that he was scared.

His leg was going numb but he could feel the savaging of his leg. It felt like tugs and he wasn't sure, but he felt like his veins were being tugged out of him and eaten like noodles.

Darkness engulfed it and thankfully, he slipped into it.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles!” He jerked back to life to Scott's voice and hands shaking at him.

“No, don't.” He could only manage in a raspy voice.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see how much of him was missing.

“Open your eyes.” Scott urged.

Stiles slowly did and he immediately looked down at his- leg? There were no bite marks, no mangled flesh, no protruding bone.

“What the fuck?” He croaked weakly and he touched his leg for good measure. Nothing. No pain at all. “It was eating me, Scott. It- it's teeth were tearing me apart.”

Scott's eyebrows pinched with worry and there was that look of pity on his face again. God.

“We need to take you back to Deaton’s, there was an attack.” He pauses, then adds. “A girl was found in the preserve, her leg was chewed off and whatever ate her got a good deal into her stomach, then just left. It's weird. Even Derek thinks it's weird.”

That was his nearly what happened to him to a T. It was weird, Scott was damn sure right about that.

“Dude, where did all that blood come from?” Scott asked suddenly, his nose crinkling.

“What,” He spat out.

Then he looked down at himself.

His shirt and most of his pants were covered in blood and the stench filled his nostrils. He swipes his tongue over his teeth and the taste of copper is all that rushes over him. Chills ran down his back.

“I don't… know.” He responded dumbly.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles felt numb.

Nothing is making a lick of sense at this point but from what he gathered from the multiple reports - the ones that his dad left for him on the kitchen table that morning from his insistence - the girl Scott was talking about, had every single injury that he had had. The broken bone, animal mangled flesh, and as for her stomach… He would have felt that too if he hadn't passed out from weakness, he supposed.

So, why did he imagine that it had all happened to him? The pain felt so real at the time, realer than any lucid dream that he has ever had, and he was an overactive dreamer.

Was the pack right? Did the monster not exist? It had to though. What else could have attacked that girl? The chances of it being an actual animal attack was slim to none, especially in Beacon Hills.

“Stiles.”

He spun on his heel, bracing himself against the kitchen counter.

Derek was standing a good five feet from him with his trademark grumpy scowl pressed on. This visit was something that he had expected for awhile, especially since he had been refusing to see the pack for about two weeks now.

“Derek, what window did you climb out of this time?” He half-joked, hoping that the wolf wasn't here to try to ask him questions about the girl. By now, Scott has told the whole pack about how he had found Stiles in the preserve and not even one of them seemed to trust him now. Not even Kira.

“Stiles.” He admonished, screwing his face up. “Scott is suggesting that we tie you up tonight, just to make sure you weren't bitten.”

Anger flashed over him and he gripped the counter tightly, “No. I'm not going to let you guys do that to me. I didn't do anything to that girl!”

The alpha snarled but he held his ground, he wasn't as scared of Derek as he had been when he and Scott first met him. Right now, he only felt angry and determined. They couldn't lock him up like some animal just because they thought he killed the girl.

“I'm not going, Derek.”

“It's for your own safe-”

“My safety?! Scott's pack couldn't care less about me and my safety.” He was yelling at this point, there was only so much frustration and anger that he could deal with after all. “Scott has his head so far up Kira’s ass that he hasn't even tried to come by to see me, to check up on me. No, Liam and Mason don't trust me at all. And even Lydia is having reservations about me now.”

“Stiles-”

“Do I even have to mention Malia? My ex?” He asked, interrupting him.

“If you don't want to do it, then you don't have to.” Derek finally cuts in.

He took a step closer to the counter, away from the wolf, “What?” He demanded.

“He's not my alpha, I just know what Malia tells me and Peter. I don't think you killed that girl, you smell human and whatever killed her… definitely wasn't.” Derek hesitates as he takes a few steps toward him and Stiles righted himself a bit.

“Well, okay. I'm not doing it then.” He spoke slowly, all too aware of the alpha approaching him. “Scott will make me do it anyways though. He has too much of a hero complex to just leave me alone.”

“Well- You could stay in my loft, Peter is making lunch right now.” 

There it is. Derek was offering him a place at his loft, but he was expecting him to eat lunch with him and Peter. Knowing Peter, it would be something high in protein and fat. God.

“Well, I've already ate.” He lied.

“You know that I can hear your heart- Stiles, you can't keep doing this to yourself.” It's a whisper, one that he pretends that he hadn't heard.

“I'll get my things and drive over in a few, Derek.” He turned from him, bouncing up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

That night, he was laying on Derek's couch with his arms relaxed behind his head. The stucco of the ceiling bothered him. Why did it have to be like that? Why couldn’t Derek just shave that part off? He could almost imagine doing so himself and it felt like a really good idea. But the concept that Derek would be pissed at him for doing anything to the ceiling was grounding enough to keep his ass firmly planted on the couch.

_ Creak. _

He shot up on the couch, the blanket fell onto the floor and the baseball bat that he brought with him was in his hands in minutes. 

Snarling that was very unwolfy-like shot from his left and he got up slowly, inwardly cringing as the couch groaned in protest. 

“Stiles-” Oh, fuck.

“Derek, stay where you are!” He barked out far more bravely than he genuinely felt at the present moment. The creature was here and he would be damned if he let it hurt Derek.

He heard no response from the werewolf but the light flickered on and Derek stared at him from the across the room.

“Where is Stiles?” He demanded.

He stared at Derek, confusion dragging over him. What was he talking about? He was right in front of him. He was right here.

“Der- I’m here. Derek?” He approached the wolf, eyes trained on his elongating claws. Derek was feeling defensive, and for no reason at that.

Derek’s searing gaze left his own and then he was storming to his cellphone and dialling someone. 

He edged closer to the alpha and peeked over his shoulder. Scott McCall was lit up on the screen and he sighed heavily, “I thought you weren’t going to let Scott near me, sourwolf.” He glared.

“Scott? Scott! Stiles is missing, I invited him to the loft for the night- Don’t start there. Listen to me. Stiles is gone and his blanket and bat are on the floor. It looks like it might’ve been a- No, I didn’t hear anything and this isn’t my fault, McCall.” He grounded out, teeth set in a feral snarl.

Goosebumps ran up his arms and he look behind himself. Sure enough, his bat was lying on the floor and of course, his blanket was there too. He remembered his blanket falling but he was holding the bat.; he hadn’t let go of it.

Everything after that was a blur.

The pack came over, Scott and Derek’s pack, and everyone was frantic. They were all worried about the other innocent people out there that could be targeted by him. They treated him like he was out there murdering people. The only ones who seemed genuinely worried were Lydia and Derek.

But he wasn’t missing; he was  _ right  _ here.

He waved his hands in front of Derek, stuck his tongue out and yelled, “DEREK! HELLO, EARTH TO WOLFMAN, ANYONE IN THERE?” 

Not one reaction. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing.

What the fuck was going on?

He reached out to touch the wolf and his hand phased right through him.  _ What the absolute fuck? _

His heart stopped in his chest- or was it ever beating at all? Was he alive? Was he- did he die? There was no body around him. He couldn’t have died.

Right?

A phone rang. It was Scott’s and he put it on speaker.

“An unidentified male was brought in.. 5’11”, weighing at 115lbs. Brown hair, brown eyes. Identifying markers: mole on left cheek.” He didn’t recognize the voice but Scott seemingly did and he straightened.

“Stiles? Is it Stiles?” He demanded.

“Scott, I’m so sorry. It’s Stiles.”

His world stopped on its axis at those six words.

“He’s in surgery and we don’t think that he’s going to make it.”


End file.
